


The private passions  of Mycroft Holmes

by gowerstreet



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabbles, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Secrets, character miscellany
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-05-25 23:36:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6214672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gowerstreet/pseuds/gowerstreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's more (and sometimes less) to Mycroft than meets the eye, but few ever get to see it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cak/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Minutiae (Or 156 Things I Know About You)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/441850) by [AtlinMerrick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtlinMerrick/pseuds/AtlinMerrick). 



> Written as a gift when time was more freely available than other resources, this is a collection of drabbles that jumped into my head and wouldn't leave. I loved writing them and I hope that there will be more. Prompts for future additions will be gratefully received.
> 
> Partially inspired by the wondrous talent of Atlin Merrick, who always makes me smile whenever she writes about the inhabitants of 221b Baker Street.  
> Thanks as ever go to to 221bJen for beta reading and Entropic Cascade for long distance wibble control and cheerleading respectively.

(1)

Mycroft’s first love was the stand up piano he found in the attic of their London house at the age of six. Mummy had sent him off on a housebound adventure while she grabbed a nap. There was no-one to tell him not to haul himself onto a box, lever open the lid and press each key experimentally. This new game was fabulous. 

He didn’t notice how dark it had become, or even how hungry he was, until Daddy came to find him, armed with sandwiches, cake and a flask of hot chocolate. 

 

Daddy listened to his delighted babbling, then sat behind him on the box and taught him Three Blind Mice.  In the months that followed, when an infant Sherlock took up too much space downstairs, Mycroft would flee to the attic, knowing that the piano would always be there. He loved its slightly broken, bluesy tones, and it seemed to love him back. 

 

Years later, when Mummy decided it was time to downsize, the only thing Mycroft  wanted from the house was the piano. It took a crane, the removal of the skylight and a team of four men with a van to move it to Mycroft’s new study across London.

 

These days, he has very little time to play, but it hasn’t starved his obsession. He regularly sends Anthea on missions to rescue abandoned instruments from auction houses and charity shops. They are dispatched to the premises of Wiggins and Company in Norwood for restoration and recuperation before being released back into the wild in the public domain as street instruments, each protected by its own CCTV camera. He might not always appreciate the music played on them, particularly in some of the more hipster-strewn locations, but the Met has appreciated the drop in incidental crime within a certain radius of each one.

 

(2)

Mycroft runs one Marathon a year. London is his preferred location, but Boston or New York will do at a pinch.  Initially this was a solo endeavour, until a certain DI caught him in his tights and recruited him as a running buddy. coffee dates led to breakfast meetings, and now they run most mornings that Mycroft is in London, providing Lestrade can lever himself from the cloud-like comfort of their super kingsize bed.

 

(3)

Mycroft owes his Cambridge education to a mackerel tabby kitten called Lovelace. She took a shine to his trousers when a somewhat nervous seventeen year old incarnation of the future British Government attended his admissions interview. His ability to gently detach her from his turn ups whilst maintaining the flow of discussion so impressed the Senior Tutor that it resulted in the receipt of a highly achievable offer and a new pet. Professor Doyle later remarked that Mycroft’s utter implacability and quiet determination to deal with the unexpected without a deterioration in his logic demonstrated that he was an ideal candidate for both Trinity and as a feline foster sibling. It also reassured the Emeritus Professor of Deductive Reasoning that the last of his beloved Byron’s kittens would be going to a kind home.

Lovelace travelled back to London in Mycroft’s coat pocket, and spent the next nineteen years as Mummy’s assistant librarian, much loved by all who recognised her intelligence and fondness for tuna.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where does an overly quiet, far too observant teenager go to escape the sudden heat of a Cambridge summer?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks go to 221bjen for doing a swift beta on this, as well as being a general cheerleader in all things creative.

Mycroft rediscovered his love of museums in the precarious days between sitting his first year exams and getting the results at Cambridge. Other members of his College lolled about on punts or drank themselves gormless.

 It was the hottest May in a decade, possibly longer. He trudged down Trumpington Street,dodging past an excited stream of five year-olds in a chattering crocodile and found himself in the shadow of the Fitzwilliam. It looked cool and inviting and held the promise of a respite from a tourist-riddled Cambridge...

And it was- all soft voices, smooth stone  and  Regency marble. The door swished behind him with a sigh. He nodded at the attendant and slipped up the steps. The heat of the  afternoon dissolved as he toured each of the galleries, revelling in the precious silence afforded to him. The staff noted his interest and answered his questions whenever they could, referring him on when his queries were too detailed. He left, regretfully, on the stroke of five. His head was buzzing with the details he’d absorbed and he swore to return at every opportunity.

The staff got to know him, at first by sight, and then by name. He initially signed up for the volunteer scheme, and later became a temporary gallery attendant, out of term time. His wages were often spent on items from the shop and a weekly slice of the amazing lemon drizzle cake in the Courtyard Cafe. For the first time in his life, he found himself genuinely amongst friends. He would have considered staying on after he graduated, and pursuing a career as a curator, had not the Civil Service (as well as those who loitered in the governmental shadows) not already caught his interest. In another life, in another universe, he might have made another choice.

Instead, decades on from that blistering day, he visits and supports  museums whenever the opportunity arises. One of his sneakier joys is to slip a fifty pound note, concealed within a note, into the glass donation boxes that are often near the entrance. The note remains the same:  

 

**_Thank you providing me with a space to be._ **

**_Kindest regards_ **

 

**_M.E.R.H._ **

 

Mycroft Elliott Rathbone Holmes always returns to his desk, wherever that might be this week, refreshed and revitalised. To him it is only fair that he expresses his gratitude to those sanctuaries which help him purely by existing.

\-----

Here's a few images of Mycroft's favourite place in Cambridge

The outside

The staircase (and a fragment of the incredible Regency ceiling)

One of the galleries (and yes, you can get up to the upper gallery, though I've never been sufficiently brave because the stairs are awfully twisty and thin!)

I owe more than I can say to the [Fitzwilliam Museum](http://www.fitzmuseum.cam.ac.uk) and their occasional writing workshops for adults. If you've ever in the area, please consider a visit.

 

 

 

 


End file.
